


Bad Night

by sowell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sowell/pseuds/sowell
Summary: Post-finale grief fic. Sam has a bad night.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Bad Night

“Don’t do it.”

Sam’s hand pauses inches above the bowl, flame dancing on the edge of the match.

He knows that voice, and the recognition runs through him like a shudder, warm and shameful. “Jack,” he says.

He turns, and Jack is watching him solemnly.

“Don’t do it,” Jack says again, and Sam swallows. He looks down into the bowl on the table, blood and magic and earth vibrating with power, waiting to be lit into a spell. He shakes out the match. There’s a whole book in his back pocket anyway, eleven more chances.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, perching on the table and groping behind him for the whiskey. He thinks he should go to Jack, clap him on the shoulder, pull him into a hug. That’s what fathers do, right? Even John did that for him and Dean once in a while.

Jack’s not his son. He has no son, no father, and no brother. He takes a swig.

Jack’s lips turn up in a sad smile. “It’s...difficult now. To appear like this. It takes effort. I can’t stay.”

Sam laughs, short and bitter. “No. I didn’t think you could. Why are you here, Jack?”

Jack’s eyes are very gentle. He doesn’t look like God. He’s wearing khakis, and the hem of his shirt is rumpled. He could have just stepped out of his bedroom in the bunker. The deja vu leaves Sam dizzy.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Jack says. “This wasn’t what I wanted for - ”

Sam comes away from the table, instantly furious. “Stop.”

“Sam -”

“Stop,” Sam yells, and then snaps his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to do this. He’d only meant to toast Dean when he stumbled into the motel four hours ago. A successful hunt. A banished poltergeist. A safe family. He’d been feeling good; he’d been feeling whole. It had been a good night. He only meant to raise a glass, to say “I miss you.” To say “I wish you could have seen it.”

He lost track of the shots after four, and he barely has any memory of gathering the ingredients for the summoning spell from the Impala’s trunk. He thinks he might have hit his head at one point. There’s some sort of ache at the back of the skull that feels like a bruise.

He’s started to sober up now. Jack is only slightly fuzzy at the edges.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” Sam says. “I thought you were hands-off. Isn’t that what you said?”

Jack shakes his head, smiles. “I am, but...you raised me. You’re my family.”

Sam slides his hand into his back pocket and touches the matchbook. Eleven more chances. “You could give him back,” he says. He’s already cried tonight, but he feels his eyes start to sting again. “You have the power. God-power. No deals, no consequences, no demons. Just bring him back.” Sam doesn’t know if he’s begging or demanding.

“You know I - “

“It’s not the same as Chuck. Or Lucifer. You’re different. The rules are different. And Dean...you know he’s different. You know what he’s done.”

“That’s not -”

“We raised you. We  _ saved _ you. We loved you like family, and he didn’t deserve to die like that and now I’m  _ all alone _ and Dean was wrong. I can’t do it I can’t do it  _ I can’t _ \- “

He cuts off his slide into hysteria with a gasp, because Jack is suddenly touching him, a warm, human hand on his neck.

“Sam,” he says, rich with sorrow. “I can’t bring him back.”

Sam stares at the floor, sucking in air. He’s truly crying now, enough that his nose is stuffy and his face is wet.

“Fuck,” he says in a shuddering voice.  _ Dean _ , he thinks,  _ you were wrong. I’m not strong, I’m not brave. I’m fucking pathetic. _

“You’re not,” Jack says. “You’re a hero,” and Sam realizes the little fucker read his mind. “You’re going to be okay, and Dean knows it. He’s -”

“He’s been gone for a year,” Sam says flatly. “Two months, four days.”

Jack’s smile is bright this time. “He’s at peace. He’s waiting for you. And you’ll see him again. But not yet, Sam.”

Sam closes his eyes. Jack’s warmth disappears, and when Sam looks he’s across the room again. Sam wonders if he ever actually moved. If he’s actually even here.

“It’s a bad night,” Jack says. “It’s not the last one you’ll have. But you’re strong. You can be happy. Give it time, Sam.”

Sam has to try. “Take me with you,” he says. “If you can’t bring him back.”

Jack shakes his head. “No. I’ve already seen Dean kill one god. I think I’d be next on the list if I took you before your time, Sam.”

It’s a joke, sort of, but it makes Sam’s heart twist so terribly he’s surprised his rib cage doesn’t fly open at the seams.

“Shit,” he says, and puts his head in his hands.

“A bad night,” Jack says again, “And it will pass. I’ll see you, Sam.”

Sam jerks awake.

Morning sunlight is leaking through the slitted blinds. Sam listlessly turns his head to see the open bottle of whiskey and the bowl for the summoning spell right where he left them.

His eyes are swollen, his stomach is roiling, and the ache in his head has sharpened and intensified around what is sure to be a massive lump.

He reaches into his back pocket. The matches are gone.

_ A bad night _ , he thinks emptily.

He was in town for a hunt; he knows the drill. He sweeps away the salt lines, wipes down every surface he touched, and swipes a month’s worth of shampoo and soap from the maid’s cart. He wants to throw the summoning spell at the wall, watch the bowl smash into a million pieces like an alcoholic pouring liquor down the drain, but he’s smarter than that. That spell has his blood, his fingerprints, his DNA. He carefully washes it downs the drain, repacks the bowl, and sticks the whiskey in the trunk.

Next hunt, one foot in front of the other. He buys matches on the way out of town.


End file.
